It’s time for a little payback.
Lying down again, I keep one eye half open to watch. I have to wait for several more minutes before she dares to move a little. She’s still being cautious—not coming any closer and moving quietly behind the line of thin, bare tree trunks. I never hear her footsteps.
When she’s partway between two trees, I sit up abruptly, and she freezes in place. I look around as if I’ve heard something but don’t stare in her direction. I stand and crane my neck as if to see farther down the hill before I lie back down slowly. Again, she stays still until she believes I’ve settled back down. After she takes a couple of steps, I raise my head again, look down the hill, and then wrap my jacket around me.
I continue to play this game with her until she finally figures out she’s being manipulated, stops, crosses her arms over her chest, and just stares at me.
I can’t help it—I laugh out loud.
“When did you notice me?” Her voice floats softly over the ashen terrain.
“I’ve known the whole time.” I sit up with my knees bent and feet flat on the ground. I wrap my arms around my knees and raise my hand to beckon her with one finger. “Why don’t you join me?”
“Liar.” Her tone is matter of fact, not accusatory. Ignoring my request, she stays where she is, arms still crossed.
“Am I?” I grin and beckon again. “Come on over here. It seems we are going to keep running into each other, so we might as well get acquainted.”
“Not until you admit to when you really noticed me.”
I go through a bit of an internal debate before deciding I might as well be truthful. She’ll quiz me on whatever answer I give, so I might as well come out with it.
“When I rolled over a bit ago,” I tell her. “Caught your movement in the trees.”
“Not until then, huh?” She takes a couple steps forward and stops several feet away. Now I get a clearer view of her expression in the dim light, and she’s smiling.
I glare at her, not appreciating the implication she’s made but also wanting to maintain my composure. Had she really been following me? And if so, for how long? Could she have spotted me on the other side of the river?
I try to hold my smile in place as I contemplate the implications of my last thought. Could she have been there on the east side of the river, watching from the woods as I assaulted, stabbed, and killed a plastic worker? If she did see it all, what would she do with the information?
I force my fear down and try not to make any assumptions, but if she saw what I did, I’m going to have to do something about it. I don’t know what exactly, but I won’t be able to just let that go. Maybe if I push her to reveal what she’s seen, I’ll have a better understanding of what she knows.
I’ve killed once tonight, and the thought of doing it again turns my stomach.
I could continue to question where she might have seen me and gauge her reactions to each inquiry, but that will take some time. I’m good at determining the truth of someone’s words, and lies can often reveal more than accurate responses. Again, it’s a process that takes some time—hours or days. I don’t have that luxury.
At the moment, she has the upper hand. I need to change that now.
“I’ve already got blood on my hands tonight,” I say, trying to sound ominous but not sure if I’m really pulling it off. “How about we just relax a little and chat?”
Her posture changes minutely. Her shoulders stiffen as she pulls back slightly. She obviously doesn’t expect my words, and I’m now sure she didn’t witness my crime. She sees me simply as a rival thief and nothing more. I relax immediately.
“Please”—I pat the ground beside me—“just have a seat.”
She walks slowly, keeping her eyes on me the whole time, and then sits off to my left, facing me, as she pulls her bandana from around her nose and mouth, letting it rest around her neck. She’s out of arm’s reach though still close enough for me to get my first really good look at her.
Though she still wears a black sweatshirt with the hood drawn over her head, I can see that her hair is dark brown, not black as I thought before, and her eyes are dull hazel or green; I can’
t tell for sure in the dim light. Her high cheekbones and narrow chin give her face a heart shape, and her complexion is a rich caramel color. She’s relatively tall with a slim build and long fingers.
She’s remarkably beautiful, and I feel my skin start to tingle with her proximity. I have to resist the urge to scoot myself closer to her.
“You have a name?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies tersely, “do you?”
“Talen.” I sit back and wait for her to respond.
She narrows her eyes slightly, studying me closely. Her muscles are tense, as if she’s ready to spring into action at any moment. She likely is, but I don’t want a confrontation at this point. I only want answers.